The Justice of Kings by Richard Swan

Author:Richard Swan [SWAN, RICHARD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2022-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

XVI

Speaker to the Dead

“To drag words from the lips of the dead is a vile and irreligious practice, sure to poison the soul of any man who partakes in it irredeemably.”

SIR KRISTOPHER MAYER

I awoke to the sound of a tremendous calamity. Slamming doors, slamming bootsteps, men shouting. I pressed myself up in the bed, dazed and disorientated. My head wound pounded with every heartbeat. It was still the middle of the night; it was dark outside the window, the only light produced by the town’s wan and smoky street lanterns.

For a horrible moment I thought the physician’s house was being raided by brigands, but even in my confusion I was able to pick out the familiar voices of Bressinger and Vonvalt among the din.

The door to the ward was kicked open by a heavy boot. Four men struggled with a thrashing fifth: Bressinger, Vonvalt, Sir Radomir and another armed and armoured man I did not recognise, but who wore the town’s colours. I could not make out who the fifth was until he was shoved roughly down in the cot next to mine.

It could only have been Graves.

“Light, quickly!” Vonvalt snapped. A sixth figure appeared in the doorway: Mr Maquerink.

All of them moved as though I were not there. For a moment I wondered if I had perished in the night and it was my ghost watching them, transparent and unnoticeable. But the town watchman spared me a brief, grim glance, and I knew that I wasn’t unnoticed. I was being ignored.

I watched proceedings with a horrified fascination, trying to piece together what was happening in spite of the pain in my head. It was only when a lantern was brought in and candles were lit that I could see the long trail of blood leading into the room, and the crimson wetness staining the front of Graves’s clothing and that of most of the men holding him.

“Hold his leg!” Bressinger grunted at Sir Radomir. Graves was thrashing like a rabid dog. I could hear his breath rattling and sucking in his chest. The man had been run through; that much became obvious. I could see the wound, in the ribs on the right. Blood frothed out of it like pink sea foam.

The four of them continued to wrestle the stricken Graves. In the madness and panic, I realised Vonvalt was trying to ask him questions. As Sir Radomir, the watchman and Bressinger struggled to contain the man’s flailing, Vonvalt was examining him as though in the court room. At the time I thought he had lost his mind; quite what he hoped to achieve was beyond me. Graves was in no fit state to do anything except thrash his way into oblivion. But after what came next, I can see now why Vonvalt was keen to try and get something – anything – out of him before he perished.

It was hopeless. I don’t know how long it took Graves to die. I am certain it felt like longer than it was.

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